Miracles
by tihku
Summary: New 52. "There are no miracles in reality; just brutal, ruthless laws and systems."


_Author's note_: Long time no see! First of all, I'd like to thank you all for the support – you guys are **awesome**! From now on, I'm not going to list usernames in the author's notes (sorry about that!), but I want you to know that I genuinely appreciate every view, review, favorite etc.! I'll keep replying guests here (if you want quicker answers, then you can poke me through DA or Tumblr), and if you don't mind, I'd love to send PMs here and there to registered users!

So, this is a quick fic to get me back into writing business. My explorations on Bruce Wayne's character have been shamefully shallow; so, I'm trying to focus especially on him. It's amusing in a way, but he is a very challenging character to write: I always feel like I'm not doing him justice at all.

( BTW: criticism is always welcome! :-) )

* * *

**Miracles**

Even years later, you still sit down on the sofa and watch as the Gray Ghost appears on the screen. Some things never change; some, on the other hand, do: once, there was your father sitting next to you, then Alfred, Dick, Jason, Tim. Damian. They remind you why people go to the movie theaters: to share an experience. A feeling. A memory.

There is another thing that's not the same as before. Alfred is probably the only one to notice it; he doesn't comment in any case. That is, there is one episode that you avoid watching...

_... The Deadly Fall_.

The Gray Ghost and the episode's main villain, the Parasitoid Wasp, fall from a helicopter. There is a fighting scene in midair which lasts for minutes. After this, both crash against ground... while the Gray Ghost survives, the Parasitoid Wasp doesn't make it.

You loved that episode as a child. Nowadays... You can't really watch action movies without analyzing. One could say that being a vigilante has ruined them for you. So, what is the problem with _The Deadly Fall_? Well...

It's simply_ impossible_. You can't fall for _minutes_, splat and be alright. There are no miracles in reality; just brutal, ruthless laws and systems.

...

... And the pain around your body is a great reminder of that.

Let's rewind the scene. The Joker went down the building with a blast, and you jumped after him. You two fell approximately 27 meters, which would make the time about 2 _**seconds **_and the velocity _**80 kilometers**__ per hour_. Of course, there were some obstacles in your way, such as the glass roof above, so the estimations aren't completely accurate.

Fortunately.

You sigh and move slightly. It's hard to. The Joker lies on you, and on both of you, there is a huge mass of debris. Your upper body is free, but the Joker is deeper in the wreckage: only his head and left arm are visible.

The thin man stirs.

You take your hand and push his face firmly against the Bat symbol on your chest; he growls lowly in protest.

"Don't move", you say calmly. "I don't have my mask on."

His body tenses noticeably.

"_What?_" he asks. His voice is a mix of disbelief, annoyance and anger.

"You heard me. It got ripped off when we landed", you explain. You sound surprisingly indifferent considering your situation and, in fact – _you __**are**_.

First of all, the place you landed on is an abandoned biological museum. It's most likely that no-one will come there. Secondly, the help is on their way; you managed to push the alarm button in your suit.

And finally, the lunatic you are stuck with is the Joker.

He stops pushing against your hand and lets his head go limp. You leave your hand entangled in his green hair nevertheless, stare at the opening view into the night right above and wonder how simple it is to do correct predictions.

You just need time, an eye for detail, intuition... and courage to take risks.

You glance at the Joker. He just lies there, motionless, silent. He reminds you of the time you visited him as Bruce Wayne in Arkham Asylum: he treated you as if you didn't even exist.

Even though you had anticipated that, it felt... weird... when he did so.

You have seen him as the billionaire playboy countless times, and he has never missed a chance to get on your nerves. But that's what he does to everyone, to the people he calls "_audience_". If you had never seen him truly alone, you'd imagine that he is always like that: vivid, noisy, intrusive.

He truly sees himself as an actor, a twisted entertainer. To the extent that he simply _stops_ when there is no-one there to see.

That's what you saw that day: a joker without an audience.

That is exactly what you are looking at right_ now_.

You try to imagine what his face seems like; the lidless eyes, staring straight through the symbol, flesh and bones, into eternity.

It makes you... irritated, in a way. His ignorance to the fact that behind the mask and symbol, there is not an abstract idea but a _man_. You are not order. He is not chaos. You do not complete each other, and really? – No-one in this world does.

And you are grateful for that.

However, this is one of the many delusions that have kept him going on. If ideas can be lethal, his are. You think of all the strained, smiling corpses in a pile. You think of Jason.

Then, it hits you.

You take his free hand and bring it to your throat.

"Joker. You might not realize it, but Batman is really a human being", you say and try to find any sort of reaction in the man lying on you; when none comes, you press the bony fingers to the side of your neck.

You inhale and continue.

"... Do you sense it? It's my pulse. There is a beating organ behind my ribs, and it's pushing blood all around my body."

He doesn't move an inch. You proceed further, now lifting the lifeless hand to your cheek.

"You have touched the skin on my face before, but have you really _felt_ it? – the sweat? the tiny stubs of beard?" you stop to examine him. Nothing.

"Then, what about my _ears_? They are quite human-like, aren't th–", you wince as his fingers bend and claw you all of a sudden. You laugh soundlessly. You are getting through to him. "_Great_. Go ahead. Explore my auricle all you want. _Burn_ the shape into your memory."

His body trembles. You rip his fingers open and take the hand to your hair.

"Such strong, fine strands, don't you agree?" you ask. "It's a pity that I have to hide them behind the cowl."

His digits tear your hair and the skin underneath. You take every bruise as a victory, and even though it hurts a lot, you can't help but smile tensely. The Joker squirms against your chest as if he was in big pain. You could stop right there, but there is still one thing you want to go through.

"This is my nose", you start, and he wriggles violently. "It's rather round and soft – not hard, pointy and–"

"**Shut. up**", the Joker growls.

You look at him, genuinely surprised.

"What did you say?" you ask, in an attempt to make him speak more – to you, to the being whose existence the Joker denies so desperately: the man behind the mask.

"I said... Shut..." he starts, and without a warning, he _lifts his head up _and _**screams**_ _at your face_, "_**UP**_**!**"

You are taken aback by his unpredictable movement, and you hit your head against the floor. You look at him, his wild, disfigured face and the _pupils that flicker slightly as he stares back at you_, and suddenly – you know that _he is_ _really seeing you_.

He pants for air, and in an instant, the ravaging anger is gone and is replaced with pure shock – as if he realized just now what he had just done. He tilts his head, gags for awhile, and finally, some vomit escapes his mouth, dripping onto your chest.

He giggles softly, hanging his head down so that the tip of his nose is touching the puke.

"You know, Bats", he says, and his voice sounds weary. "It's very _dusty _in here. It gets into my eyes." He takes a short pause. "I don't see a _**damn **_thing."

Then, he bursts into an unrestrained, wheezy laughter.

You rest your head against the floor, listen to his echoing giggles and look up to the puncture in the glass ceiling.

This world is ruled by the laws of physics.

...

But, perhaps... There is a place for miracles somewhere in the midst of equations, calculations and atoms.

* * *

_Author's notes_: Forgive me for the contradictions. I did mention in Guilty that the Joker is all comatose even while the nurses are around him; well, the Joker in this fic would most likely react to them. I simply can't make one solid characterization of him (or any other characters, for that matter).


End file.
